Katsuro Harigane’s plan had been far from foolproof, but some small part of him hoped that he had gotten away with it. Sadly, his luck was finite. Later that same night, his watch had just ticked midnight, and the man had just about calmed his nerves. About to close his curtains and turn in for some nervous rest, when an incessant banging came from his door. The poor man’s heart skipped a beat.
“Katsuro Harigane! Open the door!”
The banging continued. The yells from the other side grew louder.
“Open up! If you don’t, we will!”
Katsuro looked behind him. His window was open. The daredevil living in his head, permanently fourteen years old, told him to jump and escape. The slightly more rational rest of him reminded him that whatever slim chance he had of making it out of this unscathed would be much better than the zero percent chance of him remaining in one piece after catapulting himself through an open seven story window.
The hammering continued. Katsuro could see the hinges, or the lock, about to cave in. Faced with no other option, he approached his doom, accepting of his fate. He opened the door, and was immediately cut off from the world. From the moment the bag was thrown over his head, the man didn’t put up so much as an inch of resistance. Such was life.
How much life he had left was anyone’s guess.
How long had he been here?
His mind had been a haze for the past three, four, seven hours.
In truth, he had lost count after fifteenth time his head had been smacked against the stone wall. Lights popped from behind his eyes, his vision flickering in and out the next instant like an old cathode ray. He didn’t know where he was, who the men beating him were; he didn’t even know what day of the week it was any more, but he could likely guess. Despite all the punches, his lips were sealed. Full-length cuts, lashes from serrated knifes lacerated his flesh, spattering the walls and floor like paint on canvas. His right eye had swollen so much he could barely keep it open. He no longer had the strength to stand, simply hanging by his restraints: thick steel manacles bolted into the wall. The cuffs dug grooves into his wrists; the muscles in his sides screamed from the strain. Their outcries were drowned out by the screams from every other part of him.
Assaulted in the dead of night, and beaten within an inch of his life. Katsuro no longer bothered to resist. He knew what he had done; they knew what he had done. He refused to tell, and he would not relent. He had made enough mistakes. Katsuro knew how heavy a hand he had played in unleashing such terror on the world.
Even through the constant ringing in his ears, Katsuro picked up a voice from beyond the door—so deep and so loud, he could feel it resonate through his bones.
“Any progress?”
Katsuro shivered, but the room wasn’t cold. The air was dank enough for him to know he was underground; it was warm enough, he was likely still in Egypt. Recognising a voice when in a tough spot usually brings relief, comfort even. All Katsuro felt in that moment, however, was pure, unadulterated dread.
“No. Not yet, sir!” Stammered one guard, the one responsible for bludgeoning Katsuro’s eye. “He’s been incredibly stubborn, but he’ll crack soon, and—”
“Would you like me to speak to him?” The deep voice asked. It wasn’t a question, but a dare.
“Uh, no, there’s really no need, sir—” The guard tried to make out, but was cut short. He had evidently made the wrong choice.
"Oh, be quiet. You bore me."
The air all of a sudden filled with static, a crackling noise. Glass shattered from a gigantic boom that shook the room, as though lightning had struck within the building’s four walls. The prison door didn’t stop the wave of force throwing Katsuro’s limp body back against the wall. He couldn’t see the aftermath, but Katsuro knew there was nothing left of the man now.
Katsuro held whatever breath remained in his empty lungs as several seconds of silence elapsed, eyes fixated on the door. The creak from the hinges heralded the harsh white light from the outside flooding Katsuro’s functional eye. The man tossed his head from side to side, wincing from fresh pain.
“It’s been too long, Katsuro.” A shadow of a man appeared in the doorway, framed in the light. A crisply pressed suit contorted in places, outlining prominent muscle. “Far, far too long.” The man wore the large, wide grin of an alligator.
Katsuro hung there from his shackled crippled, cut and bound. He couldn’t see the man’s face, but the voice was a dead giveaway.
“Gus.” The response came through gritted teeth. “I should’ve known it was you.” He forced himself to swallow the pool of bloodied spittle that had been gathering in the lower half of his slacked jaw. The taste of iron on his tongue made him retch. “You were the only one to ever truly believe in my research.”
“You lived the rest of your life thinking you’d never get a chance to prove yourself, didn’t you?” Asked Gus Ishimatsu [石松ガス].
“Pitiable. Your peers laughed at you, the professionals tried to discredit you, and yet you held your ground. You’re still holding it to this day, it seems, but look at you now. What good has that resilience done you, Katsuro?”
Gus stepped forward and, more light filling his cell, Katsuro could make out unfortunately familiar features. The man had a large, square jaw and a uniform white fuzz over his head. On his throat, a black serpent wound its way around an ankh, flanked by two wings and a scarab; a tattoo, the emblem of Apep. What’s more, a vertical third eye gleamed in the middle of the man’s forehead.
“What on earth…” Katsuro hacked up a lung from where his ribcage had been partially caved in. Gus’ third eye glared at Katsuro. The otherworldly presence made the researcher shiver. “What did you do to yourself? Don’t tell me you…”
“I did. The excel ritual,” he responded, unsheathing a thin blade from a clasp in his jacket. “I knew about it well before you did, not to mention the power it held. ”
The light of the corridor outside hit the knife’s reflective side, and Gus directed the light right into Katsuro’s eye. Gus unearthed a cathartic chuckle, watching the bound man thrash in discomfort.
“They warned against it!” Katsuro cried. “Why do this to yourself?”
“You don’t need to know,” Gus stowed his fragment of the ascension blade. “Of course, I could narrate the entirety of my plan to you right now. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, old friend? Confirm what you’ve already figured out, give you enough exposition to figure out how to stop me.” He leered, crossing his arms.
Katsuro bit his tongue.
“Playing the stoic today, are we?” Gus raised an eyebrow. “No matter. You’ll be talking soon enough.”
Behind Gus, Katsuro spotted two more approaching. Despite both being featureless shadows from his perspective, his one functional eye was still able to pick out some details. Both tall and male: one had light wavy hair down to his waist, wore a hat and a long, dark coat. He looked the stock image of an American gangster, fedora and all. The other was dressed much more casually, as though he had only just got out of bed. Like Gus, this one had formidable stature. However, his lounging posture suggested he didn’t bother to utilise it all too well.
“Perfect timing.” Gus looked over his shoulder.
“You called?” Said the gangster, a winning grin peeking out from under the tipped brim of his hat.
“I did. I trust you received the briefing, Hakana. Make preparations to leave immediately.”
“What’s the rush all of a sudden, boss?” asked the second, still not removing his hands from the pockets of his sweatpants.
“Weren’t you paying attention?” The first—Hakana—replied in Gus’ stead. “There’s been a breach in containment. The blade was found missing, along with the translation records.”
“You think I actually listen? Briefings are all dull as hell,” the second shrugged, combing a hand through messy hair. “Couldn’t be bothered.”
Hakana rolled his eyes. “Just do as you’re told.”
“I don’t pay you to ask questions, Yoha,” Gus followed up, his lip curling. He looked back at Katsuro with that same hungry expression. “The men I ordered to get the location out of him have been utterly useless. No matter; I’ll do it myself.”
Katsuro’s defiant stare was met with scathing and scorn. Gus glared the man down a moment longer, before addressing his henchmen.
“One more order for now. The location isn’t confirmed but I have a suspicion. Tell the scientists back home to ready the latest prototypes for release. It seems like Queen will have another task force on her hands. Await further instruction.”
“Roger.” Yoha gave a casual salute and ambled back down the hallway.
The first, Hakana, stayed a moment longer. He put a gloved hand on Gus’ shoulder. “Forgotten something, boss?” In his other hand, he held a glass orb, the size of a tennis ball. The contents inside were a murky silver, constantly shifting. Visible within, however, was another’s silhouette.
Gus grinned. “Seems I did, thank you.” He grasped the orb.
Hakana tipped his hat, and disappeared without another word.
Katsuro still refused to say a word. He knew his defiance was futile, but he’d long since resigned to this fate. Gus towered over him, arms tightly clasped behind his back.
“This was my error,” Gus admitted. His annoyance wasn’t entirely external. “I underestimated you. I think I had in mind the man you once were. I didn’t expect you to see beyond the lenses of your glasses.” The man chuckled a little, maybe to his own chagrin. “The alarm you caused triggered quite a disturbance, yes, but a replica blade, Katsuro? For something on such short notice, you’ll have to consider me impressed.”
“I’m honoured.”
“Shut up!” Gus roared. The prison walls echoed the resonance, before the man cleared his throat. “The team found no trace of the blade in your hotel room. Why is that?”
“You don’t need me to tell you, do you?”
Gus stepped forward and kicked Katsuro hard across the face. A crack followed the connection from a broken jawbone, and the researcher screamed in pain.
“You’re going to tell me exactly the real half of the Ascension Blade is, or you will live to regret it.”
“I’m not telling you anything, Gus.”
Gus chuckled, raised a hand to chest-height and curled it into a fist. The strange vertical eye in the middle of his forehead glowed again, and that same crackling energy began to collect in the area around them. Katsuro looked around, as every hair on his body stood on end. His mind screamed warnings of imminent danger to a body that would not, or rather could not, move. The energy coalesced around Gus’ raised fist, forming a spectral gauntlet. The energy permeated the entire space, humming with untold power. Gus flexed his fingers, glass orb held in his other hand.
“Oh, I don’t think you understand just how wrong you are.”
